USUK Oneshot The Day I Fall
by GeneralKaseyDaBomd
Summary: After America gets himself into big trouble with China and Russia, England starts to worry for the country's life... but are his worries justified or not?


_He hasn't spoken to me days... weeks... he hasn't shown up to the world meetings either. Although it's not like I expect him to, not after all that's been happening. That's all I hear on the news... it seems almost every other country has their sights aimed on America. Something clicked with Russia and he suddenly felt the Cold War needed to be repeated, but with a more favorable outcome. Then, China used it as an opportunity to settle his score and get America back for all the money he owned him; And then even Mexico felt the need to join the party as well. _

_Sitting at the world meeting, hearing the others talk of invading America as well is painful. What's even worse is sitting right there, trying to talk sense into everyone, but no one listens. It's as if the whole world has forgotten that, while none of us are truly human, they're fighting one of their own. I guess there's only so much one can hope for and humanity isn't one of them... at least not here. I- _

England looked up from his writing and rested his head in his free hand. He never wrote in his journal, ever. Why had he decided to do so now? He kept asking himself that question, but there never seemed to be an answer... or maybe there was and he just refused to let himself believe it. He let out a sigh, glancing across his room. Even though it was daylight outside, the room was dark and dreary with only candles to brighten it up. He normally used this room for his black magic, but he needed some time to be alone and this was the only place he knew to be safe.

Oh, how he hated this room. It seemed his emotions always got the better of him here because of the isolation. This always happened when he was upset. England would seek out the room to calm down, but it would only cause him more hurt, then he'd grow angry with himself and take it out on others. In a way, this room was the cause of most of his problems.

Grabbing the paper in his hand, he crumpled it up as much as he could before tossing it off to the darkest corner of the room. He put his face in his hands, holding back tears. How could this be happening? It couldn't! There it was, his emotions gripping him like a noose again. Except this time, he never did grow angry.

"Sir?" a heavily accented voice called out as the rusty door creaked open. England looked over his shoulder, trying hard to stop the tears as he wiped them from his face. There was his room failing him once again. He gripped the edges of his desk tightly as he stood up, his legs shaking, "What is it?"

"There's something we'd like you to see"

A simple statement, yet those words bounced around in England's head like bullets. However, he told himself to remain composed; he was a gentleman after all. He brushed the dust off his pants and ran his fingers through his hair, following the man out to the hallway. The whole time, both were silent.

By the time they reached the conference room, England could barely hold in his thoughts. In the room was a handful of RAF members and their commanding officer. The messenger tipped his hat to England and left. England looked around the room, almost feeling nervous. This wasn't a bit like what he was expecting.

"Sit down, would you?" the RAF commander asked simply, gesturing to the open chair at the round table.

England didn't object, it's not like he could. The soldiers all sat down as well while the commander turned on the T.V. Of course, the news was on and it wasn't pretty looking. The volume was off however. The commander cleared his throat, keeping eye contact with England, "We all know of this 'predicament' with the US, right?"

The soldiers nodded in agreement, but England made no move to respond. Thankfully, the commander has intended it as a rhetorical question, "I'm going to cut to the chase... orders have come in that we are to fly in and help the US Army in the defense of their capital, am I clear?" more nods of agreement, "We are leaving tomorrow. Dismissed."

Well that was... rather blunt, England thought to himself as the RAF commander and his soldiers left, but he stayed put. His eyes were still glued to the television set. He pushed out his chair and walked over to the T.V., turning up the volume.

"**-following reports from across the states, over two-thirds of the United States has fallen into either Russian, Chinese, or Mexican control. The Midwest and East Coast is all that remains as of now, but steady pressure from enemy forces in Ohio and Kentucky has caused US forces to flee back to bases on the Atlantic coast. It's only a matter of time before more states are occupied by other countries. News from the White House calls for evacuation of citizens in Midwestern states and relocation to Northeastern locations, away from the frontlines. The President is currently trying to negotiate peace with-**"

England shut off the T.V., the image that had just played across the screen had proved his dreadful thoughts wrong. Standing next to the President was a familiar blonde-haired man dressed in an Army uniform. He smiled slightly, "So he's ok..." he couldn't think of anything else to say to himself, but somehow the picture lifted his spirits and made him somewhat happy to take the long plane ride to his former charge. Of course, America was much more to him now...

The plane ride was torture. They left at 3 in the morning, taking the 8 hour flight to D.C., and arriving there at 6 in the afternoon, Eastern Time. The jet lag was horrendous and during the whole trip England's feelings tormented him again. No matter how much he told himself that America was ok, the things he's seen and stories he's heard about the invasion kept telling him the opposite; that it wouldn't be ok.

Touching down in D.C. definitely didn't help reassure his good feelings. The whole capital had been converted to what looked like a military barricade. Surface-to-Air missile launchers were scattered throughout the parks and tanks owned the streets. Overhead, jets flew on patrol, soldiers lined the outskirts of the city and around the White House... England had never seen anything like it, except during the World Wars. It didn't seem right for the country he'd once known as care-free and cheerful to be so closed in and frightened. Just being here gave him the feeling of being an animal cornered by a dangerous predator.

As the RAF commander led him and the soldiers into the bunker below the White House, he couldn't help but feel a feeling of dread. Being in the close quarters underground didn't help with his burning anxiety either. Why was this happening? Sure America had done some stupid things and pissed off quite a handful of people, but usually he was so easily forgiven... what had he ever done to deserve this treatment?

"You ok?"

England returned to reality, realizing he had been day dreaming. The soldier looked at him with genuine concern, his soft blue gaze only intensifying his emotions. He... looks so much like America...

"Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'm fine, just thinking," England replied hastily, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He put on a fake smile and laughed, hoping the soldier was easily convinced.

"Good," was the only reply and the soldier turned around, getting back in the line.

England grew flustered, knowing he had maybe gone a bit overboard with his response. He could barely remember the last time he had blushed; it was back when America was his normal self. The idiot had gone out of his way to make their date 'special'. Turns out all he had planned was swimming lessons... with just him and England... in the ocean... with sharks... not fun...

But looking back on it, it was one of the most fun days England had ever had, not counting the hours of fear he had about drowning or getting eaten. The experience also gave the Englishman a skill he'd been lacking his whole life, it had taught him how to swim. Running away from sharks, even if America said they were friendly, definitely teaches somebody to swim really quick.

He had been so flustered then, he was sure he'd die of both terror and embarrassment. But... why was he remembering that now? This had nothing to do with it, but the memory still came to mind. That was the last time he'd seen America since this whole situation started.

Finally, after what seemed like hours in the tight underground tunnels, they reached the conference room where the President and the US Army commander were waiting... and America. Opening that door, England felt was almost a mistake. The picture on the television hadn't shown the true face of the American, not even close.

Leaning heavily against a soldier, America's face was one of pain. He looked frailer than any other country England had ever seen. Decked out with all the Army gear, it looked like America's body could barely hold up the 50 pounds of gear. His legs were shaking, his once bright eyes were pale, and his breathing was heavy and forced. Just looking at him, especially dressed like another worthless soldier ready to die on the battlefield, made England's heart sink and his stomach sick.

"Britain? You came..."

That weak voice calling him by a name only a few called him... it was heart wrenching. England didn't say anything, but shot a sad look at the 19 year old. America grit his teeth, leaning forward as if to walk up to England himself, but the Army commander held him back by his shoulder, "Sit down, sir. We have much to discuss, you can speak with our guest later."

This only encouraged the stubborn American further, "No I keep telling you I'm fine!" he retorted with as much sharpness as he could muster, breaking the commander's grip on him and walking up to England, "I'm just fine..."

The Englishman couldn't even make eye contact with him, not wanted to break down... not like this and in front of so many people. America didn't care however, burying his head in England's shoulder and letting tears fall. Every word he mustered was choked with sobs, "Arthur... I want to go home..."

So, it's the human names now... is he serious? England took another look down at America, But... he is serious... he really feels this bad and helpless he's begging me for help...

"I can't do it, Arthur... I can't!" he cried, his face a mix of pain and sadness, tears streaming down his face, "I want things like they were before!"

"Before? But..." England smiled sadly, running his fingers through America's dirty blonde hair, "It's a little late for that now..."

The President looked around the room and exchanged nods with both his commander and the RAF, "We'll leave you two with the President to talk," the Army commander stated, gesturing for the RAF commander and turning to the President, "Call us if you need anything, Mr. President."

The two countries stood still and silent as the room was suddenly emptied. The President sat down on the opposite side of the room, reading over combat reports and not paying any attention to them. England kept playing with the younger's hair, the feeling so familiar, as tears welled up at the edges of his emerald green eyes, "If there was something I could do, you know I would..."

"They're trying to send me out fighting again..." America muttered, no regard for the fact that his leader was within earshot.

It's like they have no regard for how he's feeling! Why are they trying to strain him so much, they must know he can't win a fight... not in this condition... England thought to himself, relishing the feeling of silky hair through his hand, "But you said you were fine, right?"

America looked up at him with such sad eyes that tears instantly began to drip down the older's cheeks. He kept his head rested on England's shoulder, "They keep telling me I'll be fine... I... don't feel fine and it keeps getting worse..."

His words came out pained and forced, as if even speaking seemed to hurt, "My whole body hurts, Arthur... It hurts to breathe, it even hurts to think..."

England let out a sigh, holding him closer, "Alfred, I'm here now... to help you... but you will be ok... you'll make it through won't you?"

Silence followed.

"Al?"

The once strong body in his arm started to tense up and shiver. England stopped dead, feeling something warm and wet begin to run down his shoulder, soaking through his clothes, "Al!"

The President stiffened up, only aware of their presence now that America was a concern. Still, he didn't speak to either of them directly and acted as if he knew what was happening. He turned on his headset, "Commander, what happened?"

England's blood ran cold as more and more of the substance soaked his should and down his sleeve, staining his green uniform. He glanced over at the President for some kind of answer. The headset buzzed with static and the voice was muffled by what sounded like wind and helicopter blades, "Sir! There's been an attack on New York City! We're massing troops now to evacuate the surviving civilians and to counter the Russian soldiers!"

The President stood up calm and composed, brushing off his suit and walking past the two of them, "Take care of him would you... I have important business to attend to."

England stood there in shock, his eyes wide, Does he not care about America's wellbeing at all!? What does he expect me to do?

Still in his arms, America didn't make a sound besides that of his ragged breathing. Blood poured from his nose like a river, dying the Englishman's uniform a deep shade of red, "My... head hurts, Arthur..."

"Shhh..." he soothed, leaning America against one of the walls as he took off his already dirtied uniform, "You're going to be fine, just relax."

The American didn't object as England tied his thick jacket around his head and over his nose, "Arthur?" he asked again, this time with less energy.

England helped him over to one of the chairs and sat down next to him, keeping pressure on the jacket and trying to stop the bleeding, "Just sit there and relax, i... it's just a nosebleed... that's all," the older spoke as if he was trying to reassure himself more than America and it did nothing to calm the younger's nerves.

"Arthur?"

"What is it?" he finally answered.

"Don't leave me..."

England froze, looking down on America with tears streaming down his face. The two of them sat there, eyes locked together, in silence. Still America's body shook in pain and his eyes threatened to slip shut. England leaned down, planting a kiss on his forehead, "You're burning up..."

Without another word, the Englishman stood up and rushed over to the bathroom attached to the conference room, wetting a cloth with cold water. As he pressed the cold washcloth against America's forehead, the younger let out a soothing sigh of relief.

"Does that feel better?"

The American nodded stiffly, holding the jacket against his nose as it became loose and heavy with blood. England pulled the cloth away and set it on the table, "Here," he said, toying with the edges of the makeshift bandage, "has the bleeding stopped yet?"

America closed his eyes, feeling around his nose with a shaky hand. Opening his eyes, he looked slightly more hopeful, "No, but it's slowing down for sure..."

England glanced around the room, checking the clock. 9:30. He looked back at America, "Do you have a room?"

He nodded in reply, rubbing his forehead as it began to throb in pain. England sighed and helped him up, supporting his weight, "Come on... once the bleeding stops you can get a good night's sleep and you'll feel better in the morning."

"**-as US soldiers pull back from New York after a successful victory against Russian troops, news came in from the commander of both opposing armies. Russia and China have formed a temporary alliance as they regroup and plan their next attack. Mexico has stopped their invasion of the states, claiming they have more than enough new territory and don't want to risk skirmishes with the Chinese troops near their new borders. So far, Mexico has claimed what was once California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Arkansas, and from North Carolina southward to Florida. China has claimed the remainder of the Great Plains, Midwest, Hawaii, and parts of Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming. Russia has claimed Alaska, Oregon, the Dakotas, and all states on the northern border of the US. Because of the US Army's stand at New York City, the Northeast has remained in US control, but slowly the Russian and Chinese armies are clamping down on D.C. One can only expect their next target to be-**"

England stopped listening to the T.V. as America stirred beside him. The Englishman had stayed with his former charge all through the night, mostly to make sure he never stopped breathing, "Feeling any better?"

America let out a yawn, but stopped and cringed as if said action pained him, "My head feels better, but... my.. chest hurts."

"China took over the Midwest while you were sleeping," he explained sadly, "You're soldiers couldn't hold them."

He frowned, messaging his upper chest, "Is that it?"

England looked away, knowing that an attack on D.C. would come soon, "Russia and China formed an alliance and are planning an attack... but we don't know where..." such an easy lie, one that was easy to play off as well.

The American didn't respond, he simply sat up and slowly got out of his bed. England watched him curiously, "Why are you getting up so early? Lay back down and relax, please."

He ignored him, walking over to his Army uniform and slowly began to change into the thick clothing. This time however, he excluded the heavy set of survival gear and ammunition that had caused him discomfort before, "My leader says I have to be ready at any time..." he finally answered after he was done, he face beginning to show signs of wear already.

"But there's nothing to worry about!" England argued, trying to hide the panic in his voice, he couldn't have heard about the possible attack on D.C. could he!?

America eyed him curiously for a moment before taking off the heavy top to the uniform, revealing his scarred skin beneath, "I suppose you're right..."

England's gaze ran over his body, it was covered in so many scars... all of them fresh except for one; that one, the one across his collarbone, was from the Revolution. Scars covered his top half, and presumably his legs as well, with the freshest ones on his chest still pink with blood clots around them.

"Are you... sure you're ok, America?" he asked hesitantly.

America forced a smile, and it was painfully obvious, "You said it yourself... as long as I come out of it ok, does it matter how I feel now?"

I didn't say those words... is he reading the atmosphere for one? England couldn't help but think to himself as he watched America put on a shirt and his favorite aviator jacket, leaving the Army pants on, "I... guess so, but..." he walked up to America, holding him in his arms, feeling for himself just how frail the young country had become, "I can't stand to see you suffer like this..."

He smiled again, this time it looked less forced, as he ran his shaking fingers through England's messy blonde hair, "Arthur... just knowing you're here makes me feel better..."

The assault on D.C. began only a few hours later. They were all together in the conference room when it happened. The ferocity in which the two enemy armies attacked such an already weakened opponent was staggering in the Englishman's eyes. The second the bunker rumbled with the effect of a bomb blast, America's staggered. It surprised England almost as much as it did America, but his fear was all for the younger.

Immediately, America's eyes grew duller and he clutched at his chest in agony. The President eyed him with pleasant surprise when the country recovered and got back on his feet, even if his legs barely held him up. The RAF commander looked at England, "Are you prepared?"

"Yes..." he replied with an almost sad tone as he helped America hold up his weight, "but what about him, sir?"

The President walked over to America with a determined look on his old face, "Take him with you, the soldiers need all the help they can get out there, they're facing two armies."

England gave the President a look of disbelief, He treats America like another foot soldier! Doesn't he understand that this is his country! England stopped himself, looking up at the pained face of the one he loved most, No... America is my country, he always has been and always will be...

"Yes... sir.." he replied with a plain expression as they exited the room. He watched as the two commanders and the President disappeared in the halls beyond, running off to command their soldiers on the frontlines. America suddenly shoved England away, pulling out a rifle from his backpack and holding it in his unsteady hands, "I'm fine... I can do this..."

England frowned a little. Normally he would be proud and encouraged of his willingness to fight and his lack of fear, but now... America was just lying to himself, "I'll be with you every step, but... you don't have to do this, Alfred..."

America led England down the halls, following the others' trail up to the surface, "I'm not proposing we take on the whole army... and that isn't my job anyway," he explained, his breathing becoming more forced with every passing second and England could clearly tell he was feeling more and more hurt with each explosion that rocked the capital's land, "I'm only after two people."

"Russia and China," England muttered in continuation, "They have to out there somewhere... if we defeat them, or even chase them off, their armies will retreat without a second thought!"

If only that was easier done than said...

"Ready to give up yet, Amerika?"

Another strong kick to his gut, causing him to cough up blood. The pain was unbearable, his head throbbed from the stress, his legs wouldn't move, and the tension in his chest grew tighter with each passing second. Above him, Russia keep circling him, talking him down like a beaten dog, "Surrender.. give up... and all this pain will stop."

"America!"

He strained his eyes, barely able to see without his glasses. About ten feet away, China held England back, but didn't hurt him. No matter how hard he struggled, he was only able to watch as his America was taunted and bullied by Russia.

"Give up already!" Russia shouted, this time hitting the weakened American in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, "How stubborn can one dying man be!?"

Flares of light and color erupted in his eyes as the agony hit him like a ton of bricks. He barely stopped himself from crying out in pain, gritting his teeth to hold it back. England fought back tears as he watched, his anger with the Russian overwhelming his utter terror, "America! Just surrender, please!" there it was, the flood gate of tears finally broke and streamed down his face, "Come home..."

America glanced over at him, one eye closed shut in pain. He wished he could say something, but his body wouldn't allow it. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, all that wanted to be spoken was pure pain. Russia circled him once again, tapping his gun against his side, "You're proving to be a trail of my patience... you're never going to give in are you?" he grumbled, looking over at China and England, "What do you prefer, a quick, painless death?" he fiddled with the trigger on his gun, "or a long painful one?"

England fought even harder against China's grip, "Neither!" he spat, "If he won't surrender, then I will!" he shouted desperately at the Russian, "You can hurt me all you want, just don't lay another finger on him!"

Russia smirked, "It doesn't work that way," he laughed, "Why would we want to hurt you, England? You're of no use to us anyway."

Just as he was about to say something, China gagged him with his bandana, "Stop screaming would you, you're annoying," he chuckled, "Not like you can help him anyway."

America crawled forward a little, a knife glistening in his hand, still unable to get his legs underneath him. Russia turned away from England, shaking his head at the other blonde, "Please don't tell me you were going to try to stab me," Russia mused, kicking away the knife and stomping down on his hand, "Now where were we?"

The American still couldn't see, his glasses broken and tossed aside in the grass, but hearing the click of a gun being cocked echoed in his head like thunder. He felt the Russian pick him up like a ragdoll, holding him up by his shirt, "I'm feeling generous today, Amerika... so I'll make your death short."

England's heart raced in fear as the barrel of the gun poked against America's chest. No matter how hard he fought to break free of China's hold on him and no matter how much he willed his eyes to close and look away, he found them open and locked in place. He saw tears fall down the younger's cheek, willing with all his heart that he'd make some kind of move.

But no matter how hard America tried, his body wouldn't listen. He looked up into those cold eyes staring down at him, he remembered feeling helpless and weak... dead... and then the trigger was pulled. He didn't even have the strength to cry out as red flooded his vision, quickly turning to black as he fell to the ground.

"America!" England broke the gag, elbowing China off him and knocking Russia away, "I'm.. going to kill you!"

Russia shook his head and kicked England off and onto the ash-covered lawn, "Now, now I don't want to hurt you," he smiled as an armored truck came speeding down the street and rolled onto the lawn next to China and Russia, "And anyway, we've got more important things to deal with right now, like claiming our new territory. See you at the next meeting, England!"

And then, they were gone. England laid there in shock, wiping the blood from his lip, "Am... Ame... America?"

No answer but the sound of shouts, guns, and bombs.

He couldn't take his eyes of the lifeless body in front of him. His whole body began to shake and tears dripped down his face, "You... you're gone..."

Blood began to pool up on the grass and not even a breeze stirred to move his hair, as if to confirm the words and thoughts of the Englishman. In the distance, two flags rose above the stars and stripes, painting the dust-filled sky with new colors. It took every ounce of his heart to crawl over to America and run his fingers through that dusty blonde hair he loved so much.

"Are you... home yet?"

Author's Note: Ok guys, so this is my first Hetalia fanfiction I've ever written... ever... And this was based off a dream I had one time that I remembered so vividly I wrote this about it! Mostly I wanted to write this just to get the idea out of my head before it rotted my feels from the inside out. So, yeah, plus I wrote this in 6 hours and I did this all in one sit down and it may have a grammar or spelling error or two.

I would appreciate reviews because I'm planning on writing a much longer story (with actual chapters) about Cardverse that will have many, many pairings in it (mostly USUK and Gerita, but many others will be included as well). So give me reviews and comments as you please, but please be considerate. Thank you for reading :D sorry if I made you sad


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